


In My Dreams

by MyOwnSuperintendent



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 01:30:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12948405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyOwnSuperintendent/pseuds/MyOwnSuperintendent
Summary: She knows it's not going to go anywhere--but Monica can't help having feelings for Dana Scully.  Set during Seasons 8 and 9 and post I Want to Believe (ignoring Season 10).





	In My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> This is largely canon compliant, but I have chosen to ignore Season 10's portrayal of Reyes because it is nonsense.
> 
> I don't own The X-Files or anything related to it. Hope you enjoy!

Monica didn’t believe in having types; she liked to keep an open mind.  Why limit yourself to just one kind of person when there were so many attractive ones out there?  It was silly to say you only liked tall guys or dark-haired women when some great ones might be short or blond.  Every person was a combination of traits, after all: tall and blond and witty, short and kind and into running, adventurous and green-eyed and a teacher.

Or smart and red-haired and a doctor.

Yeah, she had it bad now.  It wasn’t like she thought about nothing else—she wasn’t quite that far gone—but when she looked at Dana Scully, she…well, she knew that she had it bad.  She’d thought Dana was gorgeous from when she’d first seen her, out in Montana, and as they’d talked she’d only gotten to like her more, because she was obviously brilliant, and then she’d found herself daydreaming about Dana almost before she knew where she was.  She let it be—not much point in fighting your own thoughts, she always believed, and besides, it wasn’t like they were going to be spending a lot of time together in the future.  Just a fleeting crush.

That was then, anyway.  Now…well, today she’d delivered Dana’s baby, for a start.  That was a new one.  Usually she liked to start with getting a cup of coffee together.  In all seriousness, it had been kind of a whirlwind.  She’d had very little idea what she was doing, and it had been far from the ideal situation, but she’d done her best, tried to keep Dana safe and calm.  Tried to keep calm herself when there’d been way more blood than she’d expected, there at the end, and found herself silently praying even though she hadn’t been to church since she was twenty-three.  Old habits died hard in these situations, apparently. 

It was all right now, though: Dana was fine, and so was the baby.  She’d stuck around long enough to find that out, but she’d mostly kept herself out of the way at the hospital.  It wasn’t her place anymore, now that Dana had Mulder and the baby.  Earlier today, it had been the two of them, even having something of a good time together, in spite of everything.  She’d told Dana that she looked beautiful, like the goof she was, and then she hadn’t been sure whether to cringe at herself.  Somehow she thought that Dana guessing how she felt wouldn’t make the situation any less high-stress.  It didn’t seem like she had, though.  She…well, she had told Monica that she reminded her of her sister, and that was a good thing, really.  After all, Monica had already known deep down that nothing was going to happen, so she was glad that they could at least spend time together, that she’d at least been able to do something to make the day a little less terrible.

And now…would they be spending more time together?  Even earlier today, Monica would probably have said no, would have thought she’d be going back to New Orleans.  Now John had called, though, and said that he wanted her on the X-Files.  She didn’t really know what that meant in terms of Dana—she’d probably still be taking some time off, with the baby.   But she thought about seeing her again, and mixed in with the impossible fantasies was something else.  She liked Dana because she was smart and great to talk to, and so…well, she liked the idea of being friends.

 

Hiding her feelings was not Monica’s usual M.O.  The longer you let something stew, she thought, the more you blew it up out of proportion.  The best thing to do, if you were attracted to someone, was to ask them out right away; then, whatever the response was—yes, no, I’ve been waiting for this day, I can’t stand being around you—you had a pretty good shot at saying “Awesome!” or “No problem, just thought I’d ask,” meaning it either way, and getting on with things.

That didn’t mean she was a jerk, though.  She wouldn’t ask someone out if she knew that there was some reason she shouldn’t be doing it: if the person was already in a relationship, she wasn’t about to interfere in that.  And that was the case here, with Dana.  Mulder was gone, sure, and no one except Dana seemed to have any idea what had happened, but that made absolutely no difference to the state of the case: Dana was off the market as surely as if she’d been married for years.  She didn’t talk about it much, but Monica could tell how much she missed Mulder, that it was a part of everything she did, that helping them out on the X-Files called up a million memories for her.  Hearing about Monica’s feelings was the last thing she needed right now.

All it would do would be to mess things up between them, and right now, Monica liked what they had.  She’d thought they could make good friends, at least, and she had been right about that.  “Want to grab lunch?” she’d asked Dana soon after she’d started on the X-Files, one day when they’d gone over to Quantico to get her thoughts on a case, and Dana had smiled and said that sounded nice, and by now they’d made a habit of it, eating together once a week or so, whenever they had to meet up for work.  They had their regular places—there was a sandwich shop near the Hoover Building and a deli near Quantico—and sometimes they talked about work, or at least the parts of work that could be talked about while eating, and sometimes they didn’t talk about much of anything.  Stupid TV, maybe.  She liked it when Dana laughed, the way her head tipped back, the line of her throat against that gorgeous red hair, but she tried not to dwell on it too much.  It wasn’t as though she laughed all the time, anyway.  Maybe they had fun at lunch together, but it was still pretty obvious that she was having a hard time these days.  _You can talk to me_ , Monica sometimes wanted to tell her.  _I’m here, I’m your friend and I care about you and I want to help you._   But she didn’t.  She’d tried once, and Dana had quickly shaken her head and said that she was fine and changed the subject.  At least, Monica hoped, she knew that Monica was willing if she ever changed her mind.

They’d started hanging out outside of the work day too, now, just every now and then.  Mostly at Dana’s, since it was hard for her to leave William—her mom watched him for her during the day or when they had to go somewhere for work, and she said she didn’t want to make her mom do any more than that, if she could help it.  “Besides,” she said one evening, holding William, her head bent down to his, “I’m out too much as it is, with work.  I miss him.  You know that, sweetheart?  You know how much I miss you when I’m not here?” and William let out a coo, and Dana pressed him close to her and kissed the top of his head, murmuring, “My special boy.”  Monica almost felt like she wasn’t supposed to be there, then.  Like she was trying to force herself into something private, trying to be the wrong missing piece.

But they did have fun.  She didn’t know that much about babies, but William was pretty cute, and after he went to sleep the two of them would talk.  One time Dana brought out apple cider—“It’s all I can drink these days,” she said, “nursing.  You don’t mind?”—and they sat back, Dana stretched out on the couch and Monica in a chair, and found themselves talking about how they’d come to their work, what had made them want to join the FBI.  A lot of the past got mixed up in that, naturally, and pretty soon Monica was talking about her weird advisor from her master’s, and Dana was laughing again, hard this time, and Monica was trying not to think about the way it shook her whole body or the pretty flush on her cheeks and trying really really hard not to stare.  _Stupid_ , she thought.  She knew they were friends, good ones, nothing less but nothing more.  But it was hard, when there was no outlet.  When she couldn’t say anything about how she felt and it sometimes seemed like there was nothing to do but dwell on it.

She tried journaling, getting it out that way, which left her with a bunch of besotted-teenager-worthy pages about Dana and how beautiful she was and how smart she was.  She tried running, just to refocus her energy; it worked in the moment, at least.  She tried a couple of bad blind dates.  She thought about the earnest way John looked at her, and she didn’t dislike the thought, but it didn’t really make her giddy, either, not the way she felt when they went down to meet Dana at the autopsy bay.  Getting giddy because of autopsies.  That was probably a bad sign.

 

The lights were up everywhere now.  The trees around the Hoover Building were covered with them, lit up now as they walked out from work, little white spots breaking the darkness wherever you looked.  But in this moment, they had nothing on the brightness of Dana’s face, as she spotted the people she was looking for and waved.

“Hi, Mom!” she exclaimed, moving towards them and giving her mother a hug.  Monica watched, hanging back near the doorway.  “Thanks for bringing him.”  She stooped down towards the stroller and gave William a kiss.  “Hi, William.  Did you have a nice day with Grandma?”

“Oh, he was very good all day,” her mother said.  “We read some books together, didn’t we, William?”

“That sounds like fun,” Dana said.  “Anything I need to know?”

Her mother shook her head.  “No, everything was fine, Dana.  You know I’d call you if there were anything wrong.  And besides, I have done this several times before.”

“I know, I know,” Dana said.  “But I haven’t, so…”  She shrugged.  “Anyway, thanks again for meeting me.  I’ll see you on Monday night?”

“That’s right,” her mother said.  “I’m looking forward to it, dear.”

“Me too,” Dana said.  “Bye, Mom.”  She kissed her mother on the cheek, quickly, and then waved as the other woman headed toward her car.  “Okay, ready to go,” she said to Monica.  “Thanks for waiting.”

“No problem,” Monica said.  “I should be thanking you for coming along with me.  I’m so last minute about these things.”

Dana smiled.  “I still have a few things I should get too.  So I’m glad we could go together.”

“Me too,” Monica said, and they started down the street, Dana pushing William in the stroller. 

It was busy in the stores, of course, but not too crazy—not as much as it would probably be in a few days’ time, anyway.  Monica looked through a rack of brightly-colored scarves, thinking that her mom might like one.  “So what do you have planned for Christmas?” Dana asked.

“Oh, I’m going home,” Monica said.  “To my parents’.” 

“That sounds nice,” Dana said.  “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

Monica shook her head.  “Just me.  I have a pretty big extended family, though, so there’ll be a lot of people there.  It should be fun.”  It would be nice to get away for a bit, she thought, to rest and laugh with her cousins and not think too much about crazy cases and hopeless crushes and how nice it felt, standing this close.  She made herself move a little further away.  “How about you?”

“We’re going to my mom’s on Christmas eve,” Dana said.  “We’ll go to mass with her and then stay through the next day.”  Her voice sounded a little strained, even as she smiled and nodded down at William and said, “Not that this one will stay awake for most of it.”

“Are you looking forward to it?” Monica asked.

“I am, I guess,” Dana said.  “It’ll be fun, doing his first Christmas.  And it’ll be nice to spend time with my mom.  It’s just…it’s not my favorite time…and there’s a lot going on.”  A vague phrase, the kind that Dana sometimes employed when she didn’t want to go into things, didn’t like how personal a conversation was getting. 

“I get it,” Monica said.  “Well, have a good time with your mom, anyway.  And kiss the baby Jesus statue for me.”

Dana smiled at that.  “Oh, of course.  Did you…or are you not…”

“Yeah, I grew up Catholic,” Monica said.  “But I stopped going to church a while ago.”  She could have left it at that—she knew Dana wasn’t going to pry—but she wanted to explain, somehow.  “It’s not always the most welcoming place, if you’re not straight.”  That little flip in her stomach, always, still, after all these years, even with people she had no real reason to doubt.

“Oh,” Dana said.  “Yeah, it’s not.”  Her smile was sweet, kind, and Monica didn’t know if she wanted to hug her because of that or because she wanted her to know that everything would be okay or just because she wanted to press her close. 

“What do you think of this scarf?” she asked instead, holding up one that was red with yellow dots.

They’d finished their shopping and were on their way to check out when Dana stopped.  “Oh,” she said, looking at something on one of the display tables.  “That’s really…I just want to take a quick look at this, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Monica said, and she watched as Dana pushed the stroller towards the table and looked down—she knew it was some kind of baby clothes, but she couldn’t get a good view of exactly what the item was.  She saw it when Dana came back, though: a onesie with spaceships on it.  “Cute,” she said.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Dana said.  “They didn’t have his size, so it’s still a little big.  But I just thought…soon…”  And Monica didn’t think, somehow, that she was just talking about William fitting into it. 

She touched Dana’s arm gently, too much closeness be damned.  “It’ll look great on him,” she said, and then they got in line to pay.

 

Dana was exhausted, Monica could tell.  They’d decided to spend the night in Calgary, rather than trying to make it home at the end of what was already a very long day, and right now Dana was slumped on her motel room bed, clutching William against her and staring at nothing in particular.

“Do you need anything?” Monica asked.  “A crib for him?”

Dana looked up, blinking.  “A crib…Yeah…I should…I’ll go ask at the desk…”  She started to heave herself up.

“No, no, stay,” Monica said.  “I’ll go ask.  You just rest.”

“You don’t have to…” Dana began, but Monica was almost at the door already, and maybe that convinced her; after a minute she said, “Okay,” and went back to staring into space.

Monica secured a collapsible crib at the front desk—it was small and not very impressive, but she thought it would stand, at least—and took it back down to Dana’s room.  She tapped at the door.  “Can I come in?” she asked.

“Yeah, just a second,” she heard.  A pause, and then she heard footsteps making their way towards the door.  Dana opened it, still clutching William against her with her other arm, still looking beyond tired.  “Thanks,” she said quietly, as Monica came into the room.  “I’ll set it up.”

“No, it’s fine,” Monica said.  “Easy.  I’ve got it.”  She couldn’t do much here, couldn’t be what Dana really needed, but she could do this for her, at least.  She set up the crib quickly, as Dana sank back onto the bed and watched her, gave it a firm shake to make sure it would hold, and then stood up.  “Do you need anything else?”

Dana shook her head.  “I think that’s everything.” 

“Okay,” Monica said.  “You want me to go back to my room then?  Let the two of you get some sleep?”

“Yeah, you can…” Dana began, and then she trailed off.  Monica waited, patiently, to see if she was going to say anything else.  “Would you mind just staying for a little bit?” was what finally came out, in a small voice.  Dana was looking down at William, not at her.

“Of course not,” Monica said.  “Happy to.”  She took a seat beside Dana on the bed.  “What do you need?”

“I’m just going to put him to bed now,” Dana said.  “If you could just stay here…”  She broke off again.  “I don’t really need anything, not anything in particular, it would just be nice not to be alone.”  Monica nodded, smiling at her.  She stayed seated on the bed while Dana moved back and forth across the room, changing William, cleaning his face, feeding him.  She stood by the crib for a long moment, the baby pressed against her chest, before she finally kissed his forehead, whispered, “Good night, William,” and laid him down.  Then she came back to sit on the bed again, nearly collapsing.  “I was so…I was scared,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper, one of her hands fidgeting with the comforter.

“Of course you were,” Monica said.  She reached out to put an arm around Dana’s shoulders, tentatively; Dana didn’t move to throw her off, so she left it there.  “Anyone would be.”

“I know he’s all right now,” Dana said, looking over towards the crib, “and it’s not that I’m not grateful, but…what if this keeps happening?  I try my best, Monica, I really do, but I can’t even stop something like this?”

“It’s not your fault,” Monica said.  “You’re a good mom, Dana.  Anyone can see that.  This isn’t your fault.”

Her words didn’t seem to make much difference.  “I do try,” Dana said again.  “But it just gets so hard sometimes.  And I know I shouldn’t be complaining, this is what I’ve wanted for years, but…but it gets hard.  Maybe it was stupid of me, I don’t know, but I didn’t think it was going to be like this.  I thought I could do it by myself if I had to but…”  The tears were there, in her eyes, thick in her voice.

Monica held her tighter, wanting nothing in the world but to say something, do something, that can somehow make it all better.  It didn’t matter that she knew that something probably didn’t exist.  “You’re not by yourself,” she said.  “You’ve got all your friends…we’d do anything to help you, Dana.”

“Not the same,” Dana murmured, the words barely coming out now, and she was right about that, anyway.

“No,” Monica agreed.  She patted Dana’s back, gently.  “I know it’s not.  But it’s true.  And you are a good mother, and there’s nothing wrong with thinking it’s hard sometimes.  I’m sure most mothers think that.”  She sounded stupid even to herself; she didn’t know anything about being a mother, she thought, and besides, she would be willing to bet that this wasn’t anything like what most mothers went through.

“I hate not knowing,” Dana said.  “I feel like I don’t know anything anymore…if he’s going to be safe…or how long it’s going to be…”  No more words, then.  She just cried, not loud but hard, her body shaking and her cheeks wet.  Monica held her, trying to comfort her that way if she couldn’t with words, worrying that one way was as hopeless as the other. 

Dana pulled back eventually.  “Thanks,” she said quickly, wiping at her cheeks, not quite looking at Monica.  “I just needed a minute…I think I’m going to go to sleep now.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Monica said.  “Should I go?”

“Yeah,” Dana said.  “Yeah, thanks,” and she was quiet as Monica rose from the bed and made her way towards the door.  Still not really looking.

Monica had tried her best.  But she didn’t quite fit here.

 

Dana was starting to cry now.  “I don’t want to,” she said.  “You know I don’t want to.  But it would be the right choice.  I just can’t keep him safe, Monica…I can’t protect him.”  She bit at her lip.  “I can’t.”

There was so much she could have said or done.  She could have said that it wasn’t the right choice.  She could have pointed out everything Dana had already done to keep William safe.  She could have—and there was a part of her that very much wanted to—pulled Dana against her and said something like _Please don’t think like that, you’re a wonderful mother, an incredible woman, so very special to me, and you don’t have to do this alone either, I would do it with you if you wanted me to, you mean so much to me and if you want me I’m here._   She didn’t say that.  Too much.  Much too much.

(Of course she thought about it later.  Maybe she should have said it after all.  Maybe what she had done was worse.)

 

They said their real goodbyes before they headed out that night, just so they had the time.  Dana hugged her, and Monica hugged back, leaning into the embrace.  “I’m going to miss you a lot,” Dana said.  “It’s been great working with you.”

She knew that wasn’t all they were to each other, but it stung a little.  “You too,” Monica said.  “I’ll miss you so much.”

Dana was quiet for a moment.  “And you’ve been a really good friend,” she said.  “I know I…maybe I don’t always show how I feel…but it means a lot to me, how much you’ve been there for me.  Thank you for that.”

“Of course,” Monica said.  “Nothing to thank me for.”  She’d done it without thinking, worried she hadn’t done it enough or the right way.  “You’ve been a great friend too.  We’ve had some crazy times, right?”

Dana almost laughed, tense and keyed up as they both were.  “That’s an understatement.”

“And, you know, I’m sure we’ll see each other again,” Monica said.  “Some day.”

“Got a feeling about it?” Dana asked.

Monica grinned.  “Yeah.  I do.”  She hugged Dana again.  “Be safe out there.”

Later that night, she stared after the car as Dana and Mulder drove away.  A part of her was happy—she knew how much this meant to Dana—and a part of her ached.  Some of it was her still unresolved longings, but that was nothing a little daydreaming couldn’t deal with; more of it was the loss of a friend, and that wouldn’t be as easy.

 

She’d changed her hair—it was longer now.  Had a little bit of a tan.  And she was older (well, of course—everyone was).  But otherwise she looked the same.  Still that smile, as she waved and called, “Monica!”

Monica sprang up from her seat on the bench where she’d been waiting.  “Dana!” she said.  “Gosh, I’m so happy to see you.”  She hugged the other woman quickly and then pulled away, smiling.  “You look great.”

“So do you,” Dana said.  “How is everything?”

“It’s good,” Monica said.  “Keeping busy.”  She studied Dana again.  “Wow, six years.”

“It feels like a long time,” Dana said.  “So much has happened.” 

“I bet,” Monica said.  “Should we get lunch?  And you can tell me about it?”

“That sounds good,” Dana said, and they walked down the street together.

The sandwich shop they’d once frequented was still there, and they settled down in a booth, ordered, and proceeded to talk.  Dana told her about the years she and Mulder had spent crossing the country, never staying in one place long.  “I know it wasn’t the best of circumstances,” Monica said, “but was it exciting?  At least in some way?”

Dana took a sip of her drink, considering.  “Yeah,” she said, smiling.  “It was.”  She’d been back in the area for a little while now, though, she said, working at a hospital.  “I thought it was better to keep a low profile, though,” she said.  “That’s why I didn’t get in touch before.  But now that Mulder’s a free man…I wanted to see you.” 

“I’m so glad you did get in touch,” Monica said.  “And that you guys are doing well.”

Dana smiled.  “We are,” she said.  “We just went on a vacation, actually.  To the Caribbean.”

“Fancy,” Monica said.  That explained the tan.  “Got pictures?”

“Maybe a few,” Dana said sheepishly, and they looked through them together, Dana talking about the places they’d been.  “But I want to hear about you too,” she said.  “Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

So Monica talked about work; the X-Files were gone, but she’d hung on at the FBI.  “I still like the work,” she said.  “Even if it’s not as weird as it used to be.  Do you remember that one time?  There was a serial killer and we played checkers with that guy in a garage?”

“Yeah, of course,” Dana said.  “You told me I was a nine.”

“And I stand by that,” Monica said. 

She told Dana about Chloe too, how the two of them were planning to move in together soon.  “She sounds terrific,” Dana said.  “I’ll have to meet her sometime.”

“That would be great,” Monica said, and it really would, she thought.

They hugged again when they parted and promised they’d be in touch.  Somehow it was so easy now.

 

The movie had been terrible, the two of them agreed over drinks afterwards.  “And I think it’s so idiotic,” Dana said, “that movies have absolutely no conception of the idea that a woman might, I don’t know, _work_ when she’s in the workplace.  As opposed to just falling for her co-workers.”  She sipped her drink.  “Not that I’m one to talk, I suppose.  Done that a few too many times.  But hey, it worked out for me in the end.”  She smiled.  “You ever have a thing for a co-worker?  I sometimes thought you and Agent Doggett…”

“A little bit,” Monica said.  “But it never really went anywhere.”  She didn’t know what made her blurt it out; she hadn’t had that much wine.  “I had a crush on you too, for a while.”

“Wait, really?” Dana said.

“Oh yeah,” Monica said.  “And I used to worry I was too obvious.  But you never guessed?”

Dana shook her head.  “Hell,” she said laughing, “you’re out of my league, anyway.”

“In my dreams,” Monica said, laughing too, and then they went back to talking about the movie.


End file.
